


Tale of the Purple Gown

by Laikin394



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Curses, Dark!Belle, Dominant!Belle, F/M, Fluff, Out of Character, Role Reversal, Romance, Rumbelle - Freeform, Smut, Spinner!Rumple, True Love, woobie!Rumple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laikin394/pseuds/Laikin394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumpelstiltskin may be a coward, but he’ll do whatever it takes to protect his son - even if that means killing the Dark One.<br/>Of course, it doesn’t go according to the plan – things spin out of control and the man finds himself at the mercy of odd and intimidating lady Bellatrix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tale of the Purple Gown

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve come across several Dark magical Belle fics but none of them fully satisfied me, so here I am taking matters into my own hands. Be sure to review; you do not have to be kind.
> 
> I hope the name Bellatrix didn't make you cringe. Much :3
> 
> [Lovely cover!](http://emiliebrown.deviantart.com/art/Tale-of-the-Purple-Gown-453033583)

_Some things just have to be done before you could pause to consider the consequences_ , he mused, climbing the stone steps, the thud of his walking staff echoing down the hall, _even if you’re just a pathetic village coward_. There was so much smoke he only guessed where he was going for it was impossible to see through it. Yes, sometimes you had to rely on your hunch and sheer dumb luck to achieve what you wanted. For if you stopped and thought things over, you’d realize that nothing good could come out of such a folly; that even plotting something similar could get you in more trouble than you had already been in.

Yet it was too late to turn back. Rumpelstiltskin continued his slow climb, his mutilated ankle refusing to cooperate on the ascent. He had a thick cotton piece of cloth – not clean enough to be considered a handkerchief although, he supposed, handkerchiefs were not meant to be clean – pressed to his face, to cover his nose and mouth, but he was teary-eyed nevertheless and the back of his throat felt extremely dry, making him want to cough.

If he stopped to think this quest over, he’d probably begin to doubt his own sanity. He trusted the word of some half-mad beggar, the man’s tale of a dagger that could control the Dark One. Personally, Rumpelstiltskin felt like he couldn’t quite control his own life. He was poor, but poverty never scared him. He had a fair trade – he could spin and weave and tailor and most of the time it was enough to provide for the necessary things. His life was decent or so he thought. Even after his wife left him, saying she no longer was able to stand living in a shack that smelled of wool and eat only bread and water, Rumpelstiltskin did not see the reason to despise his lifestyle. But neither their shelter nor his low-income occupation were behind the true motives of her leaving; she ran away because she never loved him, because she hated being married to a coward.

Ironically, he became a coward for believing the words of another person, the Seer who predicted his death in battle; he’d die even without a glance at his son he had not known he had. So he ran and was hobbled, returning home a cripple; but in a sense, it was worth it. His son was the only joy in his life; Baelfire was why he came here. Rumpelstiltskin hoped he was not making another mistake, but at least then he’d have tried his best.

He was told of the magic dagger only today and hurried to the duke’s castle as fast as his injured ankle – it never quite got healed properly – would let him. He soaked pieces of wool in lamp oil, placing them around the castle grounds and igniting them, and when the guards and servants hurried to the sources of smoke, Rumpelstiltskin lit a few more pieces inside the castle. Now he only had to reach the top of the tower, where the beggar said the dagger was. For magic was his only chance to save his son; tomorrow the soldiers would come to take Baelfire to war.

The stone steps seemed endless; he hurried but still his climb was too slow. Finally, Rumpelstiltskin reached the top. The door was slightly ajar, which struck him as odd; he expected heavy locks or more guards there. It seemed too easy but he didn’t dwell on it. The circular room was lit only by the moon shining through the large windows on the roof. Right in the centre, as if hanging on an invisible thread in thin air and reflecting the silver light was a long dagger with a curvy blade. Its handle was decorated and there was an inscription carved along the weapon’s length, but Rumpelstiltskin had never been taught to read. He reached out for the thing, his hands trembling, but he told himself he had to do it; he had to be brave for his son.

He held his breath as he wrapped his fingers around the handle, but nothing happened. He took the knife in his hand, turning it this way and that. The light it reflected made the shadows around the man move in an eerie and haunted way. For a brief second he had the most ridiculous thought that the curvy blade would slither out of his grip like a snake. It didn’t happen. The handle was icy-cold, not affected a bit by his body warmth. Rumpelstiltskin knew naught of magic, but he could swear the dagger reeked of something dark and dangerous. He wanted to throw it away and never touch it again; instead, he fastened the weapon to his belt securely, hiding it under his long linen tunic. The steel chilled his skin even through the layers of clothing.

The dagger hung on his middle as a dead weight, cold and heavy, as Rumpelstiltskin made his way back home. He was lucky, after all; he did not meet a soul en route to his shack.

***

The soldiers were on his doorstep the following morning – his hut was on the outskirts of the village, the first building on the road from the duke’s premises, but he refused to let Bae go, pushing the boy behind his back protectively, pleading to be left alone. The men laughed and pushed the spinner around, they could take the boy by force but they enjoyed the growing desperation of his father.

Their laughter died away as a slender figure on a horse approached. The Dark One was draped in a long velvet cloak that obscured her shape and features, leaving only the bottom part of her face visible. Her lips were full and ruby-red, the upper one curved in a grimace. Apparently, she didn’t like being made to wait.

That was his last chance. As they discussed the previous night, Baelfire ran inside their house out of the way. Rumpelstiltskin knew there was a spell to control the Dark One, but he didn’t know the words. However, the beggar claimed that if the witch was killed with the enchanted dagger, all of her power would be transferred to her murderer. He reached under his tunic, grasping the blade tight before closing the distance between him and the Dark One in one jump. Rumpelstiltskin raised his hand, putting all of his strength in it to plunge the knife under her ribs. His hand was stopped before the tip of the blade could pierce her cloak.

Rumpelstiltskin blinked and stared at his wrist in disbelief, where her long fingers were curved around it. Her nails were long and obscenely red, digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks, and her flesh was a strange shade of light green. Soldiers laughed again when the Dark One squeezed her hand around his harder, nearly crushing his bones and Rumpelstiltskin whimpered, heightening the men’s amusement. The woman did not smile though; she jerked her head back and in the places where the soldiers stood, only the burnt grass remained.

She slowly turned to the man and pried his fingers open with the other hand. Her touch was slight and nearly gentle compared to the grip on his wrist.

“Why, thank you for kindly returning what is mine,” she said, taking a hold of the dagger and flipping it upwards, where it dissolved in the air.

“Mi-milady, please,” his voice dissolved to a scared, pathetic, quivering noise.

She released his hand and pushed the hood of her cloak back. Rumpelstiltskin gasped, seeing her face. She could have been beautiful once – her features small and elegant, but her skin was a hideous greenish-grey colour with a golden glow where the sun hit it. But it wasn’t the odd skin colour that frightened him; it was her eyes. They were large and unblinking, merciless pools of yellow with vertical slits for pupils. Snake-like and piercing, they seemed to reach down to the core of his soul, drink in his secret thoughts and fears. He was pinned in place by her unmoving stare, cold sweat trickling down his spine.

The Dark One ignored his mewling and studied him. When she spoke, her voice matched her features – cold and cruel.

“What is your name, peasant?”

“Rumpelstiltskin, m-milady”. The spinner knew he had to bow but it was impossible to break the eye-contact; he felt that if he looked away or even blinked, she would attack him.

“Rumple, then,” she said calmly, taking in his shaggy unkempt hair, weathered face covered with dust and dirty tunic. “Yeees, that suits you. And do you know who I am?” she enquired.

“You are the… the _Dark One_ ,” he whispered but he was sure she heard him well. “Lady B-b-bel-latrix.” He stuttered through her name so badly he thought she’d be offended by it, but she only laughed. It was a high-pitched sound, similar to the whistle of a wind on a frosty night.

“Yes, that’s right,” she drawled with a smile that made her face more sinister and never reached her eyes. “And you are terrified of me.”

That wasn’t a question. Rumpelstiltskin shook, but those words seemed to break something in him and his words poured out.

“Milady, please. My son, they wanted to take my only son… the ogres… he’s all I have, milady. Please don’t take him away. I’ll do anything, anything so that he lives. I never meant to harm you, m-milady, I just need to keep him safe.”

She looked at him expressionless, watching marks his tears left in the dirt and dust that covered his face. She seemed to study him for some time, until she hooked her fingers under his chin, her sharp nails nearly piercing his skin as she lifted his face, making him glance up. Rumpelstiltskin cringed at the touch, but made himself meet her gaze.

“What do you do?”

“P-pardon, milady?” the question caught him off-guard. The Dark One made a tsk noise and repeated slowly.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I…ah I spin and w-weave.”

“A spinner. Perfect!” she exclaimed, releasing him and clapping her hands together with exaggerated joy. “I’ll tell you what, I feel generous today. Since you’ve returned my dagger to me, I’ll give you and your son the protection you desire so much.” But her eyes narrowed, reminding him that there was always a catch. “Yet since your intentions towards me were… _impure_ , as a payment, from this day you have to come to my castle every three days.”

She did not wait for his reply and rode away, leaving him confused and shaking like a leaf.

***

Rumpelstiltskin was utterly terrified. What had he done? Apparently, the Dark One did not want his death – she could have incinerated him on the spot just like she had reduced the soldiers to ashes, but he tried stabbing her and she’d not let that go unpunished. He was certain the Dark One had plenty of other ways to make him suffer without killing him. That was probably why she commanded him to come to the castle – to torture him, to strip his flesh from his bones or use his blood in some black magic ritual. He shivered in fright and made it back his shake, dropping himself onto the wooden bench and leaning his forehead onto his staff.

“Papa?” Bae’s small hand squeezed his shoulder. “Papa, what happened?”

Rumpelstiltskin pulled his son in an embrace, hoping to draw some strength from his boy.

“Nothing, little one, everything’s alright,” he said with farfetched merriment. It was only a half-lie for he did not want to burden his son with his dreary suspicions, but it was also true that the Dark One had never broken her word. If she promised Bae’s safety, it meant that he no longer had to worry about the boy. Any possible pain or rage she’d unleash on him would be a small price for his child’s life. Perhaps she would become bored with him soon and leave them be.

Rumpelstiltskin felt exhausted from all the events of the evening and the lack of rest from the previous night. He knew he had to recover some of his power before facing the Dark One, but when he closed his eyes, his mind burned with the image of her deadly eyes – cruel, yellow and unblinking. Those reptilian eyes mocked and hypnotized him. His knees went weak at the memory of her stare; what would it be like to have those snake eyes watching him again? He wanted to cry; to curl into a small ball and hide under his sheets. The man hoped he would not pass out in front of the Dark One, if he ever made to the castle – his shaky limbs refused to cooperate enough for him to stand up straight. Rumpelstiltskin tried spinning and doing the housework but he couldn’t concentrate on anything, staring into space in thought and dropping things he held.

Finally, the sun began sliding down towards the horizon. He kissed his son on the head, promising to be back as soon as possible and set out on the road to the castle. The spinner limped through the village, leaning on his staff heavily, as people who spotted him walking followed him with their stares. Some of them looked at him with sympathy, and the rest – in fact, the majority of the villagers – seemed to gloat at his misfortune; he had never been loved but he winced at the uncovered glee in their eyes.

***

It began to rain, as if the universe itself decided to donate to his misery. The rain softened the ground, and each of his steps was followed by the champ of the mud his boots sank in. Rumpelstiltskin could barely make out the harsh lines of the Dark Castle through the curtain of rain. It took him forever to reach the front gates and climb the three porch stairs. He hesitated at the large wooden doors, unsure whether he had to knock to push them in, but the doors burst open before he could touch them, revealing the castle’s owner.

“You are late,” she said coldly, moving aside and motioning for him to come in. Her hair was loose but the bouncy curls framing her face did nothing to soften her harsh features.  Rumpelstiltskin gulped and walked inside; even though he was greeted by the warm air and the cosy light of the hall. He’d much rather be in the pouring rain than in this cursed place.

“F-forgive me, mistress,” he muttered, his head bowed low, uncertain. Even though the Dark One never set the time of their appointment, he knew better than to argue with her.

He jumped when the doors snapped shut behind him with a loud thud. When he dared to shoot a glance at the woman, he was surprised to discover that she was even shorter than him, yet the power she radiated and her queer eyes made him feel like she towered over him. The Dark One was wearing man’s pants – unspeakable boldness, that – tucked in her high boots. The leather of her breeches clung to the generous curve of her hips provocatively. Around her middle was a rich green corset, with a print of uneven sharp-edged scales; Rumpelstiltskin had never seen a dragon, but he could bet the cast was made of dragon-hide. The sleeves of her shirt puffed out, the white fabric only making her odd skin pigmentation stand out, and the low cut of the blouse revealed… the man quickly diverted his eyes, choosing to look at the carpet. He hoped the Dark One did not catch him staring at her; the last thing he needed was another offence to be punished for.

The silence stretched uncomfortably; his shallow breathing unnaturally loud to his ears.

“You are dripping on my carpet,” Bellatrix observed impassively; indeed the droplets fell from his clothes onto the floor, soaking into the thick wine-coloured carpet, leaving dark damp circles in it. Moreover, there was a trail of muddy footprints from the threshold to where he was standing. She scowled at him and snapped her fingers, the warm air of her magic erasing the mud and drying his clothes.

“Hmm, you might even look decent when clean, Rumple,” she mocked and he cringed at how she said his name; it rolled from her plump ruby lips, short and crude like a crack of a whip. “This way,” she said, leading him to the right through a wide corridor. He did his best to keep up with her brisk walk, wincing at the tensive pain in his ankle; it would be hell trying to stand on the leg later; the cold and rain always resulted in a dull ache that could stretch for days.

“In case you wondered, why I brought you here – and I do hope you possess some rudimentary intelligence which enables you to form simple and logical questions in your head – it was not for your masculine charms,” she glanced at him over his shoulder, her upper lip curled in a scorn grimace. Rumpelstiltskin did not reply. He watched his feet shift on the carpet and prayed for this uncertainty to end; whatever horrible plan she had for him, he’d rather hear it and be done with the stone weight of the unknown that pressed down on his shoulders. Even though her voice all but dripped venom, he wasn’t insulted by her puns; he had been called worse things, most of which he thought he deserved. Rumpelstiltskin knew he was hideous, his wife made sure to explicitly inform him what a disgrace of a man he was and that no woman would ever want to be in his company. Mentioning he had no masculine charm was a kind understatement.

Bellatrix reached the turn of the corridor and waited for him to catch up, clicking her tongue impatiently, displeased by his clumsy and slow stride.

“I need you to make me a gown and a matching cape,” she said, pinning him in place with her unblinking eyes, as if he’d dare to come too close to her, “and I very much hope you will _not_ disappoint me. Tonight you will start with the cloak, and if you muck it up, well…” she paused to smirk darkly, suggesting he absolutely did not want to know beforehand what kind of punishment he’d encounter in case of failure. The Dark One produced a piece of parchment, tossing it to him carelessly. He caught the shred in mid-air and lifted it to his eyes.

It had a series of vivid drawings, all showing different angles of a feminine shape – her features and body just a sketch, compared to the rest of the detailed image - in a sophisticated purple dress with a heavy coat, topped with a hood cascading from her shoulders. Even on the sheet, the clothing looked rich and by far more complicated than anything he had done previously. He trembled, worried that the disaster was inevitable, he’d never succeed at making the gown as beautiful as the portrayed one, but he couldn’t plainly refuse and walk away, could he?

Not relying on his voice, Rumpelstiltskin nodded, showing he understood what was required of him.

“Good!” the woman clasped her hands together in delight and pushed him around the corner into a spacious room. There, next to the tall window and to the right of the blazing fireplace, stood a large spinning wheel glistening in the soft light. It must have been expensive – the spikes were generously carved with bindweed, making it look like a piece of art rather than a tool for making thread.

“Oh, but it’s beautiful,” he whispered, admiring the thing. He even forgot that he was in the Dark castle, its fearsome mistress breathing down his neck.

“I had a feeling you’d like it,” Bellatrix replied softly, her voice almost warm now that the mocking was gone, but before Rumpelstiltskin could ponder the sudden change, he nudged him forward. “Quit gaping at it like some half-wit and get down to work.”

He obliged and approached the spinning wheel, running his hand over its curve caressingly before sitting down on the bench and putting his staff on the floor. To his left stood a plaited basket full of fine white wool. The Dark One did not leave him alone in the room; the woman picked a thick volume and sat sideways in a plush armchair, her legs draped over its arms. She appeared to be quite into her reading, but for some reason Rumpelstiltskin was certain she was watching him. He was happy his hands seemed to do the work on their own, pinching and thinning the yarn, making the thread as thin as possible, while the rest of his body felt nearly paralysed by her stare. He was out of yarn when her voice right behind him made him jump with surprise.

“I think that will be enough for today.” How in seven hills could she move so quietly?

“It’s late,” she moved to stand in front of the wheel, crossing her arms in front of her and frowned. “Surely you would not like to stay here for the night.”

“N-no, milady.”

The answer seemed to satisfy her and she beckoned him with her finger. “Come.”

Rumpelstiltskin followed her back through the corridor into a smaller room. There, on the crude wooden table sat a loaf of bread and a clay jug of milk. He stared at the food in awe, not sure whether it was a trick or she was showing him some kindness.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” the woman snapped. “I figured some food would not hurt you. So are you going to eat or do you expect me to shove it down your scrawny throat?” Even the insult was said half-heartedly and the spinner managed a tiny smile at that.

“Mistress? Can I… if you permit… uh… May I please take it home?” he hated babbling but she still intimidated him immensely. “My boy, he… he needs it more than I.”

Bellatrix gave him a strange lingering look but nodded.

“Here,” she produced a plain basket out of nowhere for him to put the food in. The Dark One reached for his hand, turning his palm up and sliding three gold coins in it before curling his fingers around the money.

“I’ll see you in two days,” Bellatrix said instead of a good-bye and tapped her finger on his forehead, her magic transporting him to the outskirts of the village.

When the world stopped spinning around him, Rumpelstiltskin adjusted the basket on his arm and headed to his house. Baelfire was curled at the rug in front of the fireplace, falling asleep on the spot while waiting for him. The spinner’s heart throbbed; everything was going to be alright now, he knew that.

***

Rumpelstiltskin was busy for the following two days. The single gold coin paid for new clothes for Bae and fresh thatching for the roof; the rest was stored away safely wrapped in a rag under his mattress.

When he walked towards the Dark Castle on the third day, his stomach turned at the idea of seeing the woman again, but there was less fear in him - only awareness about whom he was coming to. The wooden doors slid open for him and he followed down the familiar corridor to the room with the spinning wheel.

“Ah, it’s you, Rumple,” the Dark One called from the arm-chair as he made the entrance and bent down to greet her with a clumsy bow. She waved her hand dismissively and he took it as a sign to get down to work. He sat on the bench, eyeing the basket of fresh wool at his feet but didn’t start spinning.

“Milady,” he started tentatively, “I… thank you. For everything. The food, this…” he motioned at the wheel and himself. Rumpelstiltskin meant to express his gratitude; to let her know how he appreciated her sparing his life, giving him food and even paying for his modest work. But the words that left his mouth were clumsy and pathetic.

Bellatrix stared at him for several moments through squinted eyes, her look suspicious as she tried to read his face. Then her shoulders relaxed and she nodded. “No matter. Even Dark Ones have whims.”

Neither of them spoke anymore that night, but the spinner was sent home with a fresh loaf of bread and the clinking of three metal coins.

***

He didn’t know at which point the fear and anxiety transformed into something different, but Rumpelstiltskin awaited the following visit to the castle with something strangely close to anticipation.

“Tell me about your son,” the Dark One said, resting her chin upon her interlaced fingers and watching him through the spindles of the wheel.

“His name is Baelfire, milady,” the man smiled fondly, as he always did, speaking of his child proudly. “He is a sweet boy, kind and bright of mind, and…”

“And you love him,” she interrupted.

“Of course I do!” he said hotly, insulted by the doubt in her voice. “How could I not?”

“Not every father is like that, Rumple,” she said quietly, a shadow darkening her face. “But tell me more about him.”

Rumpelstiltskin was surprised at how freely the words flew; he talked and Bellatrix listened, nodding and encouraging him to go on, the corners of her lips raising in a ghost of a smile more than once.

“Would you like to bring him here sometime?” she asked.

“No!” he blurted, before he even had the time to think. Oh gods, did he just refuse the request of the Dark One? Did he anger her? “I mean, it’s a long walk, milady, and he has to help me with the garden and…”

“It’s nothing, Rumple, I understand,” she didn’t seem angry and he sighed with relief.

As he walked back, his mind was restless, trying to decipher that expression on her face. He could not quite grasp why he felt so guilty; he said nothing wrong, Bellatrix confirmed it herself. Maybe he was just imagining things, but the Dark One looked almost… sad when he said he did not want to take Bae with him to the castle.

That night he dreamed of a fragile-looking girl, with a mop of chestnut curls and tear-filled blue eyes, vivid against her pale face. The girl stretched her arms to him, calling his name, but he turned his back on her.

***

It was the first decade of September, but the cool autumn winds from the East had already crept onto the land. Rumpelstiltskin headed to the castle, thinking about what he had to do for the Dark One. He had spun all wool, plying the fine threads together. He was ready to start weaving but he needed a loom; he had to tell Bellatrix about it. And he needed to find the colouring for the cape; he didn’t know of the plant that could turn the wool into such a vivid shade of purple, but he was certain there could be some other way, perhaps herbs from faraway lands.

For some reason his ankle was worse today, reminding him to be cautious with his walking by throbbing pain. The path took him a lot longer than usual and the witch frowned at him when he stepped over the threshold of the room. She was in her favourite chair, but the book on her lap was untouched.

“Do you really think,” she began dangerously, “that I have nothing better to occupy myself with than waiting for some spinner to honour me with his presence?”

“Milady, forgive me, it’s my leg, I…”

“Enough!” she spat. “I am sick and tired of you being late all the time! No more excuses.” Although she did not shout, he trembled at those words.

She jabbed her finger at him and Rumpelstiltskin cried out at the slicing pain in his leg. He fell to his knees, gritting his teeth to keep the sobbing quiet, but it hurt, it hurt so bad and he did not deserve it.

“Rumple?” She was at his side promptly, cupping his chin to make him look at her. Her eyes searched his face, her bottom lip quivering slightly. “Does it still pain you?”

“I…” his eyes went wide. His leg no longer ached, the sharp pain gone along with the soreness that settled in his ankle that morning.

“Up,” she pulled him upwards. Rumpelstiltskin stood up straight, shifting on his feet and looking down at them with amazement. His misshaped ankle was no longer bent at an awkward angle; it was normal and it felt fine. Bellatrix led him to the table and for the first time in over a dozen years he actually _walked_ instead of limped.

“Tea?” she offered and not waiting for his reply, summoned a tray, pouring him a cup of herbal mix.

“But your cape, milady,” he protested.

“…will wait,” the woman said firmly, passing him the cup and pouring one for herself. “I will still pay you for today, so fret not.”

“I… Bellatrix, _thank you_.” He felt stupid – in the past month she had done more for him than he could ever dream of, but all he could offer was just small words of gratitude. He reached forward, covering her hand on the table and giving it a brief affectionate pat. She sucked in a loud breath as his calloused palm came into contact with her soft greenish skin.

“Belle,” she said. “You can call me Belle. That’s the pet name my mother used, I never liked Bellatrix.”

“Belle,” he tried. It caressed his tongue gently and he repeated it with more confidence, enjoying the sound. “Belle.”

She smiled at him over her cup. It wasn’t the usual smirk or the scornful twist of her lips. It was a genuine smile, sweet and a little shy and his heart fluttered at it.

The smile made dimples appear in her cheeks and erased the frightening aura of the witch. Her hand was still on the table, her skin sparking lightly against the polished wooden surface. If Rumpelstiltskin moved his fingers a quarter of an inch forward, they'd brush hers. The Dark One - no, _Belle_ \- leaned forward to him and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. It was a wasted effort as his straight lock fell right back onto his face as soon as her hand let go of it. It made her smile again.

She was sitting so close he could see the tiny specks of emerald green near her vertical pupils. How could he ever find those eyes repulsive and cruel? They were beautifully warm now, mesmerizing him. His heart was beating rapidly in his throat and his mouth felt suddenly dry. As if Belle felt the same, her lips parted and she ran her tongue over the top one. Those lips, red and now moist became the centre of his world, calling for him, pulling him closer with inevitable gravity.

Without thinking, he titled his head and closed the distance between them, his dry lips pressed against hers, just keeping still against her mouth. When she did nothing to stop him, he gently captured her bottom lip between his and sucked on it. Rumpelstiltskin whimpered, the simple caress setting his whole body on fire; he had forgotten how good it could feel. She was so soft, so sweet, her breath mingled with the scent of the herbs.

He wanted more, to deepen the kiss, to wrap his arms around her, to press against the woman and melt their bodies together, to do a million other wonderful things his mind could not shape and find the name for, but he was stopped with the violent push in his chest.

"This cannot happen again, ever," she whispered under her breath, her voice coming out more of a hiss than human speech and he found himself alone on the road to his village.

Oh gods, he _kissed_ her. She was generous and patient with him, even if she snapped at him, Belle's actions were more prominent than sharp words; she _healed_ him. And what did he do in return? Rumpelstiltskin hid his face in his palms, feeling his cheeks burn with shame. No wonder she kicked him out of the castle, she was probably scrubbing her face with disgust to wipe away the memory of his touch. He was aware of himself - he was old and ugly, even though no longer lame. He was poor and no match for a lady like her.

To make it even worse, he liked kissing Belle. He kicked a pebble in frustration and went home.

***

Baelfire was delighted to have him back so early that night and he squealed with joy upon discovering that his papa could walk without pain, but Rumpelstiltskin did not share his son’s happiness. He felt uneasy; the following two days stretching as if the time slowed down its run. He wasn’t sure if he should return to the castle or not. He thought that perhaps he should go back to apologize, but he was afraid. Afraid that Belle would shun him for offending her; afraid to see the deserved loathing and scorn in her eyes; afraid that after what he’d done he’d never be able to enjoy her company again. Rumpelstiltskin decided to leave things be; he made it through two days and half of the third one and started on the journey to her castle. It was strange, walking without his staff, and even though his thoughts were worried and gloomy, there was a spring in his step. He was so grateful for the opportunity to be well, _normal_ , once again; the stain of cowardice having been erased by her magic.

The doors opened for him to pass inside and Rumpelstiltskin decided it was a good sign. Belle greeted him with a raised eyebrow.

“You came back,” she said calmly.

“Yes. I… I wanted to return earlier, but…”

“Ah!” her eyes turned into hard stone. “I forgot to pay you the last time.”

“No, it wasn’t about that, milady. Belle. I…” his voice trailed off. I, what? Am sorry for kissing you and still desiring it, dreaming of your face for the past two nights? I wish I were worthy of you? I wish I was younger, wealthier and you felt at least something towards me?

“I… nothing,” he bowed his head, eyeing the toe of his shoe, feeling like he should explain himself better even if he did not dare to speak his true motives.

“I did not come for money. I came because I wanted to see you. To see to your _gown_ , I mean.” He quickly corrected himself, realizing that his admittance of being willing to see _her_ could be taken as a suggestion for something else. “I apologize for what I did the last time.”

Belle studied him for several moments and let out a sigh.

“Then we shall speak naught of it,” she said slowly and he nodded.

Even though she forgave him, there was something broken between them. The silence felt awkward, but he did not know how to fix it.

When it was time for him to leave, Belle put the money into the food basket and let him pick it up himself. She avoided touching him, keeping the distance between them and he felt a pang of hurt. He could never imagine he’d miss something as simple as a brush of their fingers when she’d press the coins in his palm.

***

Next evening when he came to the Dark Castle, Belle wasn’t there. Rumpelstiltskin thought it was odd, but he weaved for a few hours and left, carefully shutting the doors of the mansion. He tried not to dwell on the cause of her absence; perhaps she had some urgent errand, but his mind kept prompting him that she was gone, because she did not want to see him.

The following time his arrival at the living room was also greeted by silence; he was both relieved and startled when he heard the quick confident steps of her high-heeled boots echoing through the hall. Belle walked into the room briskly, wrapped in a travelling cloak, her hair in complete disarray. She didn’t spare him a glance, unfastening the cloak and throwing it onto the table. She settled down in her favourite chair, stretching her leather-clad legs forward, frowning and staring at the fire.

The quietness turned into tension, too much for him to stand. The air was overwhelmingly thick and weighed heavily with tension. Rumpelstiltskin stood up and crossed the room to where she was sitting. He knelt in front of her chair, but Belle paid him no mind. He covered her small hand with both of his, giving it a little squeeze to draw her attention.

“Belle, I cannot go on like this. Please talk to me. I know I did a wrong thing and I am so sorry it upset you.” His words sounded pitiful even to his own ears, the pleading in his voice making it sound a pitch higher, but she didn’t laugh. “I’ll understand if you say you cannot forgive me and that you never want to see me in the Castle again, but please do not be so sad because of me. I never meant to offend you.”

She looked at his large hands covering her palm, but made no move to jerk it away.

“Why are you saying this? Why do you _care_ if I am upset of not?”

He gulped before answering. _Gods, give me courage_. It could be his last evening with Belle, so she deserved the truth; he only had to make his parched tongue shape the words.

“Because you are my only friend.”

“Your…friend,” she repeated with difficulty, as if the word was alien to her.

“Oh Rumple,” she breathed, raising her left hand like she wanted to touch his face but letting it drop back onto the armrest without reaching him. Then her voice became harsh once again, something shifting in her imperceptibly, all the uncertainty gone from her body, replaced by the vicious mask of the Dark One.

“What if I told you,” she snarled, “that the very hand you’re holding is the hand of a monster. That no more than half an hour ago, that hand was covered by fresh blood when the screams of my victim’s death agony filled my ears?”

Rumpelstiltskin gasped and shuddered, involuntarily shifting his body away, but his reaction seemed to please her. Her face was distorted by a grin nothing like the sweet smile he kissed from her lips. That smirk was sinister and intimidating, making her words so easy to believe.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” she cooed, her voice was gradually rising as she went on. “Should I tell you what he did to call the wrath of the Dark One upon himself? Do you want to know his name? Or would you like to hear how he pleaded me to spare his life, whimpering and sobbing at my feet? Or perhaps you’d rather hear how bright his blood was when I slit his throat and watched him choke on it?”

He was shaking his head violently; cold sweat running down his spine. He knew she wasn’t lying, but he didn’t, he physically _could not_ stand her talking about someone’s murder so casually.

Belle looked at him, her anger gone as sudden as it came. “Would I still be your friend Rumple, if I told you all that?”

It was a rhetorical question, but he took it seriously.

“Yes,” he croaked, reaching out for her hand and squeezing it so hard it hurt. “Yes I would, because it wasn’t you who did those awful things, not the real you.”

Belle chuckled. “Make no mistake, Rumple, it _was_ me.”

“No it wasn’t,” he pressed on stubbornly, surprised at his own boldness. “You’re good and kind. Call me a fool, but you saved Baelfire and me, doesn’t that count for something?”

“And I don’t care what that man did or what you did to him. I am in no position to judge, but you’re no monster. You’re generous and caring and…” he searched for the right words but couldn’t find them. “…and you’re here now, that’s all that I need to know,” Rumpelstiltskin concluded, putting his head onto her lap and closing her eyes when her fingers raked through it hesitantly.

“I _am_ here, Rumple,” she whispered, caressing his hair. “And you’re no fool”.

***

 “I need to take your measurements, Belle,” he stood up, holding plain linen cords in his fist and she nodded in agreement, gesturing for him to come closer. Rumpelstiltskin pressed the cord to her back, from the top point of one of her shoulders to the other and marked the length with a small knot. Setting that cord aside, he took another one and urged her to turn around. Belle stretched her arm out, allowing him to estimate how long the sleeves of the dress should be. He tried ignoring how close she was standing, telling himself to be impassive, to keep his dirty ideas to himself and not muck things up with lustful groping.

“Erm, your corset is in the way,” Rumpelstiltskin was sure he blushed as a maid, but he may as well take all of the measurements at once. The piece she was wearing wasn’t new, there were patches where its warm cinnamon colour was worn down to a light beige. Wordlessly, Belle’s hands flew to the lacings in front of the corset. Her breathing was laboured for some reason; perhaps she wanted it to be over with. Her fingers quivered slightly as she fumbled with the top bow; but once it came loose she quickly worked the rest of it down.

Rumpelstiltskin bit back a moan and exhaled noisily; there was something incredibly arousing in her standing like that, untying her corset and dropping it to the floor behind her. She remained just in her white poet shirt and sucked in a sharp breath when his hands came onto her sides and the cord circled her waist. Belle somehow looked very fragile without her corset, as if she exposed something vulnerable by dropping the leather armour off. Maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong about it, he thought, marking the cord with another knot and putting it on the table; that was most likely the closest anyone had ever gotten to her and that’s why her breathing was so shallow. She must feel nervous and defenceless.

He didn’t realize how thin the fabric of her shirt was. He could feel her body heat radiate through it. When his palm rested on her waist, the barrier between their skins was nearly gone. Unable to resist, Rumpelstiltskin stroked his thumbs on her sides but quickly pulled his hands back when she whimpered. He took the last cord and wrapped it just under her breasts, his knuckles brushing against her nipples which immediately turned into hard points, straining against the fabric.

With a chocked sob, Belle’s hands cradled his face and she stood on the tips of her toes, bringing her face close to kiss him. The kiss was messy and urgent. Her lips weren’t gentle; they were merciless, demanding, drinking his breath in. It was awkward and feverish, their noses bumping until she tilted her face to the side. Her tongue followed the contours of his mouth before coaxing his lips open, battling his tongue, licking every place it could reach.

It danced around his tongue, twining and curling around it. It wasn’t a fight for dominance - Belle wanted a complete surrender; she was claiming him and he found himself willing to obey, to belong to her. She bit and nibbled on his bottom lip and gods he was rock-hard just from kissing. He was careful to make sure he did not touch her or press himself against her so that she noticed his desire; their lips remaining the only part where their bodies joined.

Belle kissed him like there was no tomorrow; because perhaps there might not be, perhaps all there existed was this moment of sheer bliss. She sucked on the tip of his tongue and his cock throbbed in response. She pulled away, brushing her lips along his to softly press them at the corner of his mouth. Her fingers went into his hair, rubbing the tender spot at the back of his neck that made his eyes roll back with pleasure. She titled her head the other way for a second kiss, more gentle but no less thorough, this time pressing her body against his fully; Belle gasped as his stiff member was pressed against her soft abdomen but she didn’t break the kiss.

Her hand went down, feeling the shape of him through the clothing, her fingers curling around the shaft and squeezing it. Gods, it was too much, too perfect. Her fingers squeezed again, giving his cock a slight pull and to his shame, that sent him over the edge. Rumpelstiltskin cried out, throwing his head back, his eyes shut so hard there were white stars dancing behind his lids. For a few seconds nothing mattered; the hot pleasure pulsed in his lower body, rising up his stomach as his cock spasmed and spilled his seed in short, quick gushes.

The pleasure had not subsided entirely when the realization kicked in. His wife was right – he was useless as a lover. He did not dare to look at Belle; he had ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered, feeling his eyes fill with tears and he tried to hide them, turning away to the window.

“What for?” she sounded genuinely puzzled as her fingers reached for his face, stroking the light stubble on his cheek and tracing the shape of his jawline.

“Rumple, look at me,” Belle hooked her fingers under his chin, turning him towards her. There was no mocking or disappointment in her eyes. She stole another light kiss from him.

“Come,” she beckoned, leading him to the mantel and dropping down onto the fur rug in front of it.

“Kiss me,” Belle asked timidly and he obliged, trying to mimic thing she did to him before, massaging her lips with his. She sighed into his mouth when he’d hit a particularly sensitive spot and he tried to memorize those movements, using her squirms and groans as guidance. Belle leaned back until she was lying on the rug and he shifted, stretching next to her, his body propped on his elbow but keeping some distance from hers. At least he wasn’t entirely hopeless; she seemed to enjoy being kissed, her moans becoming more frequent and encouraging him, but he knew it wasn’t enough for her.

“I want to please you,” he whispered, “if you’ll let me. But I do not know how.”

Belle guided his hand to her chest and he put his hand over the soft mound. Her breasts weren’t large and his palm covered one of them completely. Rumpelstiltskin shifted his hand, cupping her breast and lifting it upwards, enjoying its weight and how perfectly it fit in his palm. Belle sighed and arched into his touch, closing her eyes and somehow it gave him more confidence. She looked beautiful, her face relaxed and the green skin glowing with a warmer undertone of gold in the dim light. The fire made the shadows dance on her body – an eerie contrast between light and shade, darkening the cleft between her breasts and making her parted lips even more alluring.

Rumpelstiltskin suddenly wished she was nude for him to admire and study the texture of her skin, but he didn’t dare ask that of Belle, besides, her shirt allowed him to see quite a lot. Her nipples, peeking through the fabric, were a darker shade compared to the rest of her and he circled the large areolas with his fingertips. Getting bolder, he flicked his thumb across the nub, teasing it into hardness. Belle moaned as his fingers pinched and plucked the nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. He repeated the same to her right breast but Belle wriggled impatiently and pulled his hand lower, undoing the lacing of her pants and slipping his hand underneath the material.

Rumpelstiltskin’s palm rested on her mound as the pads of his fingers stroked the soft hair, studying the line where it met the apex of her thighs. She whimpered and spread her legs wider, allowing his hand to slip lower to the velvety lips surrounding her entrance. Belle was slick with arousal – he didn’t know that was even possible, that a woman can be so eager for touch - allowing his middle finger to slide between her folds easily, rubbing against the tight ring of muscles at her entrance. He dipped his finger inside, moaning at the incredible heat and wetness of her there, her inner walls gripping his finger and resisting the entry. Rumpelstiltskin took his time, stretching her, pushing his finger forward and withdrawing it to plunge back deeper. The base of his hand was pressed against her mound and Belle groaned as he rotated it slightly.

He could tell that she liked it – Belle was making small noises of pleasure, which turned into groans when he curled his digit inside and seemed to have brushed it against some particularly sensitive spot; she bucked her hips in time with the thrusts of his finger but it wasn’t enough. He felt the desperation growing inside of him, something he was doing wasn’t right.

“Please,” he whispered against her lips, bending down and giving her bottom lip a quick lick. He couldn’t shape his request in the right words – he wanted to please her, to make her become undone, to give her at least one tenth of the bliss and satisfaction she gave him, but all he could manage was just another soft _please_ as he kissed her again, catching her sigh. Belle seemed to understand; her hand travelled down her stomach, slipping lower to join his. She caressed herself just above the place where his finger was buried inside. Her breathing was rapid, her chest heaving as she expertly stroked herself, building up.

Her movements had nothing gentle or teasing in them; they were rhythmic and determined, her body growing more tense under her ministrations. Rumpelstiltskin tried to match her pace; adding another finger he worked them in and out of her fast and she arched her back, eyes shut and her teeth biting down on her lower lip. With a keen noise escaping her lips, her body trembled with release, her eyelids fluttering open and her mouth ajar with in an unvoiced cry.

It lasted a couple seconds before she went limp, pulling both of their hands out of her pants. Rumpelstiltskin bent down to kiss her and she responded almost shyly, giving in and letting him take the lead to explore.

He moved onto his back and she turned to tuck her head under his chin. She sighed, placing her ear on top of his chest to listen to his strong heartbeat, her hair tickling his neck.

 “Come to bed?” she offered tentatively.

“Can’t,” Rumpelstiltskin said meekly. “It’s already late, Baelfire…”

 “I understand,” she cut him off, rising up to her feet swiftly and turning away from him, lacing her breeches up and straightening her rumpled shirt. He couldn’t truly stay, but he didn’t want to leave like that.

"Tomorrow is the market day," he began, proud that he did not stutter over the simple sentence.

For some reason, the nervousness was back - his palms turned sweaty and he could feel the colour rising in his cheeks.

"Baelfire likes market days, he would be gone for the whole day with other children and... So, I, um... I thought, if you could or... erm... wanted to... I mean..."

Gods, he felt even more humiliated than when he creamed his small clothes after just two small squeezes of her hand. Standing there, trying to ask her for, well, something awfully resembling a _date_ , both dreading and hoping she'd agree, was much, much worse. Belle did not make it any easier; she had her arms crossed in front of her, looking at him with polite interest, one eyebrow arched, patiently waiting for him to finish what he was saying.

"Uhhh we could have lunch together or something?" he said miserably, realizing how lame it all sounded and regretting he even asked her.

"Lunch?" Belle repeated as if she could not believe what she'd just heard.

"F-forget it, it silly and I shouldn't have..."

"I'd really like that," she said quietly and then suddenly threw her arms around him, pulling him into a brief hug.

"Tomorrow then," she confirmed, smiling and sending him away in a cloud of her magic.

***

Rumpelstiltskin spotted a small figure pacing in front of the castle gates from afar. It warmed his heart to see her expecting him, knowing that she did not change her mind and that his company was welcomed. He waved and hurried towards her.

"You were waiting for me," he said, astonished.

"I did no such thing!" Belle protested, grabbing hold of his tunic and swinging him around against the iron bars, knocking the wind out of his lungs. She was stronger than any woman ought to be, mortal or not, but he stopped thinking when she smashed their lips together in a kiss. Rumpelstiltskin's hands curled around her back and she groaned in appreciation, not breaking the kiss. Just when he thought she was going to drive him insane with desire, her pelvis accidentally - or purposefully - ground against his hip. Belle pulled away, her eyes slightly misty and pupils dilated.

"Let’s go," she dragged him by the hand but not towards the castle, as he expected, but to the road on its left.

"I thought we were going to have lunch?" he asked, puzzled.

"We are," Belle confirmed.

“Oh, that’ll take forever, hold on,” Belle turned to embrace him and in a blink of an eye her magic took them to a clearing in the forest. She sat down right on the bright grass, motioning for him to do the same as a basket of food appeared out of nowhere. He wondered if the clearing and the sunny weather were also her magic’s doing – the air felt unseemly warm for autumn. She smiled, handing him a sandwich and sank her teeth into her bread and ham. Perhaps it was just the trick of light, but her skin seemed less green today; it looked not much darker than his but it glittered in the sun as if she were dusted with golden sand.

Belle pulled him out of his thoughts by poking him in the ribs and he crinkled his nose, trying to hold back a burst of laughter. He was immensely ticklish around his middle. She caught that, of course, and gave him a cheeky grin.

“Seems that I’ve discovered one of your weaknesses,” she made big eyes, as if she had found out a secret and was both proud and surprised by it. Her fingertips brushed up and down his ribs, making him giggle.

“Belle!” he exclaimed, trying to push her hand away, but she was faster, ducking aside from his gripping arm.

“ _‘Belle’_ all you want, but no one is going to hear and come rescue you from the mighty Dark One,” she said dramatically, letting her voice drop to the whisper at the last words.

He laughed and squirmed, trying to get away from her tickling hands, but she was quick as water and there was no way he could escape the torturing touch. He was breathless as he fell onto the grass and she straddled his hips with a triumphant cry. Rumpelstiltskin raised his hands up, surrendering.

“You win,” he breathed. “I am fully at your mercy, mistress.”

“Oh?” she purred before leaning down to kiss him. The kiss was surprisingly gentle, her lips brushing his softly and just the tip of her tongue stroking the inside of his bottom lip.

Belle didn’t stay still on top of him. Her hips ground against him, setting his loins on fire as the blood rushed to his cock, making him hard almost in an instant. She deepened the kiss when she felt his rigid member press at her entrance, her hips moving faster against it and making him moan and her tongue stroking in and out of his mouth in synch with her thrusts.

Belle’s fingers travelled under his tunic, applying firm touch on his side and grazing him with her nails. The pad of her thumb was slightly cool as it found his nipple, circling and pressing the nub into his chest. Every place she touched him seemed to send sparks to his lower belly and gods he never wanted it to end.

Her mouth moved to his neck, nibbling and sucking on the flesh just under his earlobe. He couldn’t hold back the most embarrassing whimper, but he felt her smile, her lips moving against his skin. The maddening short licks and bites gradually moved lower, her lips teasing his collarbones in the opening of the tunic. Her hand went down to his breeches, her thumbs dipping under his waistband before she began fumbling with the lacings.

“Wait, Belle, wait,” he pulled her hand away, making her stop. She shifted her body, her groin no longer in contact with his pelvis.

Despite enjoying everything she did, Rumpelstiltskin felt it was wrong. Belle was pleasing him again, her full attention on him while he lay there motionless and she got nothing from him in return. Yet he felt like he’d not be able to give her as much pleasure as she deserved; he was clumsy and ignorant and well, he was just _himself_.

“You do not have to do this,” he mumbled, intimidated by how serious and concerned her eyes were on him.

“No,” she agreed easily, resting her forehead against his. “But, Rumple, what if I _want_ to do this?”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned, trying to figure out the meaning of her words. That idea had never occurred to him, it was utterly ridiculous for her to want him. She was so beautiful, young and powerful, smart and full of life. Any man would be honoured by her company, even more so to kiss her or to enjoy her touch.

Why would she want _him_? His wife was ashamed to be seen with him; she often said his mere looks were disgusting. She never wanted to touch him, or kiss him and allow him to caress her. Rumpelstiltskin grew used to it, realizing that she was probably right; he _was_ hideous. But Belle saw him differently and he couldn’t understand the reason for it.

“Stop doubting and just accept it,” Belle’s lips were sweet and reassuring and he melted into the kiss. Even if by some strange twist of destiny’s humour, he desired him, it would never last.

She gave him a stern look as if she could read his mind; he wouldn’t be surprised if she really could.

“Do you want to please me, Rumple?” she asked gravely, watching his face to catch him if he lied.

“Yes!” no matter how insecure he felt, he did want to please her; he only wished he was capable of it.

Belle’s features softened as she smiled at him. She bent and kissed his forehead.

“This,” she placed a kiss upon his brow, “pleases me.” Her lips kissed the tip of his nose and his cheekbones before moving over his mouth.

“Will you let me?..” her warm breath washed over his skin as she spoke.

Rumpelstiltskin felt tears well in his eyes and he blinked them away quickly; he gave her a jerky nod in agreement, afraid that his voice would be too thick with emotion.

But Belle’s lips were back on his neck, kissing, nibbling, leaving wet trails on his skin on which she blew warm air. He couldn’t think, aware of where her greedy mouth marked him and his body turned boneless as the heat ached and pooled low in his abdomen. She sat between his legs, her hands running circles on his chest and belly, caressing him through his clothes. She pressed her palm against the bulge in his pants, feeling the shape of him before she worked on the fastenings once more. Rumpelstiltskin made no move to stop her this time. He closed his eyes, the image of her bent over him like that, touching him was almost enough to send him over the edge.

Belle didn’t lower his breeches, she merely pulled his tunic up and pushed the folds of his trousers aside. She raised his cock, gently but firmly wrapping her fingers around it. With a downwards pull she exposed the smooth bulbous head and he bit down the back on his hand to muffle his moans. She stroked him up and down, the pad of her thumb massaging the glans. Belle watched as a clear bead of precum formed at the slit of his cockhead and brushed it away, spreading it around the head and making it glisten.

Then he felt something other than her fingers touch the tip of his member; something textured, blunt and less rough, something wet and warm. Rumpelstiltskin lifted his head to see leaning over his lap, her red lips sealed around the shaft. Oh gods, he felt on fire with the knowledge of her kissing him _there_ , he should tell her to stop, it was shameful and wrong and… it was heavenly.

Her strange yellow eyes met his and her tongue stroked the underside of his prick. Rumpelstiltskin quivered; the sensation too sharp and stronger than anything he’d felt before, and let his head drop back onto the ground. Her mouth was incredibly hot and moist and she moved down on his cock until its head was pressed at the roof of her mouth. Belle applied a little suction, bobbing her head back and forth as her tongue repeatedly caressed the ridge and swirled around the head.

It was nearly too much for him to feel – the steady movement of her lips, the warmth, the pressure and the repeated strokes of her tongue. She was going to drive him mad. He wanted to bury his fingers into her hair, but he was afraid he’d lose control, give in to the urge to push deeper, to get more of that wonderful feeling, to thrust into her mouth until he was spent.

His hands were clawing at the grass, unable to find support to keep him grounded. His voice turned rough from the low groans he was making; he sounded like a beast snarling and howling with pleasure.

“It’s alright, darling, just let go,” she raised her mouth off him to speak, her tongue sliding along the shaft briefly before that velvety heat of her lips was back around his cock again. Her movements were more determined now, more rough, building him to an inevitable release.

Belle’s hand slipped lower, cupping and massaging his balls which were drawn tight against the base of his member, her sharp nails scratching just behind the heavy sack. Her other hand went to the shaft, squeezing it and it was all he could take, the combined caress of her hands and mouth too sweet, too strong, too…

His cock thickened and throbbed, the first pulse of his hot seed hitting her tongue. She didn’t stop moving, her hand milking him as her tongue massaged the glans, prolonging his pleasure. She swallowed repeatedly, cleaning him up with her tongue. Only when his cock began turning soft did she release it from her mouth, tucking it back into his breeches.

She sat on her hunkers, giving him a mischievous look and offering her hand to help him stand up. Belle smiled, untangling a grass blade from his hair.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know what to say. He bent down to kiss her, tasting the trace of salt and bitterness on her lips.

“What about you?” he asked but she shook her head.

“Later.” He thought perhaps she was mad at him, perhaps he should have warned her about finishing or he shouldn’t have, _gods_ , he shouldn’t have done it in her mouth.

Rumpelstiltskin must have looked worried for she smiled again and kissed him, harder this time, with the echo of previous passion.

“I promise, we’ll have time for it later,” she said intertwining her fingers with his. “You know I never break my word.”

***

Next time Rumpelstiltskin saw her, she looked so much different. Her hair seemed to be straighter and her skin was very light, barely any green or gold left in it. It was as if someone had drained the colour from her body, even her lips were no longer aggressively red but more of a natural rosy shade.  Only her eyes still held the vivid yellow colour.

“Belle, are you alright?”

She gave him a quizzical glare, turning her head to the side.

“You look… unusual.”

She studied her hand as if she’d only noticed the changes.

“Peculiar,” Belle observed but her voice did not seem troubled by it. “Must be a side-effect of that spell I experimented with, it’s nothing serious.”

He didn’t want to press; if she was sure nothing was wrong, then he’d believe it too. Belle cocked her eyebrow, her expression turning playful.

“Would you like to study this…change?” she suggested cheekily, approaching him with cat-like grace. He blushed as her hips swayed in an exaggerated manner. “I do seem to remember you owe me something.”

Rumpelstiltskin missed the moment she transferred them to her bedroom – he stopped being aware of the outside world when her lips covered his and her tongue slithered inside his mouth. She nudged him against the bed and tugged on the rim of his tunic, urging him to take the garment off. She raised her eyebrows when he hesitated to cooperate.

“I… I don’t want you to see me,” he croaked, embarrassed.

“Why not?” Belle was unlacing her jerkin and shrugged it off easily. He followed the piece of clothing as it was discarded and landed on the carpet with the creak of leather. “You do like to look at me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he swallowed hard, gods he did want to see her, but she had to understand. His words were laced with worry, coming out painfully as he admitted his insecurities.  “I am just older and well, not as _lovely_ as you.”

“Oh, so you find me lovely,” she cooed somehow, interpreting the words _her_ way and moving to stand between his legs. Rumpelstiltskin raised his hands to her sides, stroking her skin through the fabric, enjoying the closeness and warmth of her body.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered and placed a kiss at the base of her throat, her sigh of pleasure sounding like music to his ears. “Too beautiful for an old spinner like me.”

She chuckled at the compliment and hooked a finger under his chin, making him raise his face.

“I’ll make you a deal, Rumple,” her fingers slid into his hair, massaging and drawing him closer so that the words were whispered against his lips. “I will take my shirt off if you do the same.”

He wasn’t going to argue, not when her lips were so soft and sweet, teasing and promising, parting for him invitingly. She made his stomach flutter in anticipation, but she wasn’t in a hurry. She stroked his face, gently cupping it, drawing circles on his cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs. When she broke the kiss, Belle raised her arms and let him slide her shirt off, revealing her small breasts topped with dark nipples. Her skin did indeed look rather pale, noticeably lighter than before, and very smooth.

Rumpelstiltskin verified it by touching, stroking her back, her skin soft and velvety under his calloused fingers. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her middle and kissing her chest. He pressed his face between her breasts, inhaling her sweet scent deeply; she smelled faintly of herbs and something citrus and he longed to taste her skin. His kisses became more enthusiastic, his tongue following the way his lips made, travelling to the curve underneath her breast where it met her body.

Belle whimpered as his warm mouth covered her nipple, lapping at it, teasing it into hardness. His lips closed around it tightly; he sucked on the hard nub, extracting more delicious moans from her. Her fingers raked through his hair and he guided him to the other nipple. Rumpelstiltskin circled his tongue around it, nibbling and using a bit of teeth this time, as his fingers pinched and rolled her now wet right nipple.

He cupped each of her breasts in hand, raising them up and together, his mouth switching from one glistening nipple to the other. He groaned, idly wondering who was enjoying the deed more, for simply playing with her chest left him rigid and straining against his clothes.

Belle’s fingers crept under his tunic, tugging it upwards and he reluctantly pulled away from her, letting her toss it onto the floor. She bent down to pull his shoes off and then his breeches joined the pile of clothes on the carpet. He didn’t have time to feel embarrassed about his body because Belle was on top of him, coaxing to lay him down, wriggling out of her bottoms and kissing him senselessly.

She felt so perfect, warm, naked and pressed tight against him. Rumpelstiltskin ran his hands down her back, her soft hair tickling his arms as he caressed her shoulder blades, his warm palms drifting up and over her shoulders. She slid along him, rubbing on his cock, sandwiched between their bodies.

Belle shifted, rising upon her knees to stand over him. She curled her fingers around his shaft, lining him up with her entrance but did not sink down. She glided the head between her folds, coating him with her juices. When she did press it against her entrance, Rumpelstiltskin did not think it was possible. He knew she wasn’t a virgin, he had his fingers inside of her but she still felt too tight, her muscles clenched together, resisting the entry. She pushed down intently and he moaned as the head of his cock slid inside. Her wetness and her heat surrounded him, her inner walls squeezing him as she worked her way lower, letting him penetrate her deeper. Her body was covered with a sheen film of perspiration, her lips biting on her bottom lip.

Finally, he was fully sheathed inside her and Belle let out a sigh. She leaned over him, panting and he tried to be still, to let her body adjust to him being inside. His fingers stroked her face and hair, watching the tension go away as her features relaxed.

She planted her hands on the sides of the pillow near his head and rotated her hips a little, rising off him slightly.

“Gods, Belle,” he rasped, engulfed in her, feeling he’d go mad with need if she didn’t move.

She began rocking against him carefully, supported by her hands. She leaned over him, pressing her lips in a kiss, their noses bumping together awkwardly. She locked her snake-like eyes on him, face so close they were breathing and sharing the same air, her chest rising and falling against his in unison.

Belle moved rhythmically, steady and unhurried, grinding herself on the base of his cock when she moved down. He cupped and squeezed her buttocks, his fingertips brushing against the place where their bodies joined. He couldn’t tell how they could live all those years separated; they felt like they were one being, perfect together.

Rumpelstiltskin thrust upwards against her, following her slow rhythm, caressing her hips and sides and everywhere he could reach. He watched her in awe – eyes misty with desire and cheeks flushed, her movements gradually becoming faster, needy as her whimpers and sighs turned into low and primal moans. The mattress squeaked under their bodies, rocking in the rhythm as old as the world itself.

Rumpelstiltskin hated to think of his wife at that moment, but he realized how much he had missed; it had never been like that with her, and not only just the physical aspect. With Belle, he felt like it wasn’t just the pursuit of satisfaction for their bodies; he thought it was much more – the closeness of their spirits, the desire to convey affection through touch. He was dissolving in her, opening himself and bearing his very soul to her completely and he knew Belle was experiencing the same.

Her hand drifted to her sex, rubbing and working herself up. She plunged down on his cock harder, her inner walls gripping him hard like a silky glove. She trembled, her face contorted as in pain when she climaxed, clenching around him and sending him over the edge again, her sobbing and his low grunt mixing together.

He felt utterly spent when Belle collapsed on top of him and he ran his hands along her back soothingly until their breathing became even once again.

“Belle?” she stirred against him, pulling them both onto their sides and draping a leg over him. “I need to tell you something. She muttered something incoherent, indicating she was listening.

Although the decision to tell her now was spontaneous, Rumpelstiltskin did not feel like he was acting in heat of the moment. Deep down he knew how he had felt for a while, but having Belle right there, curled at his side, filled his heart and made his chest swell with such tenderness that he could no longer leave it unspoken.

“I love you,” he said confidently; never in his life had he been more sure.

There was a sudden whisper of magic in the room, warm blow of it moving her hair and making her body shiver.

“Belle, what’s happening?” he nearly panicked, shaking her by the shoulder.

“You broke it,” she whispered against his chest and then laughed happily. “You do love me!”

She lifted her head and looked at him, still smiling. Rumpelstiltskin gasped as he met her eyes – they were blue, instead of snake yellow. Bright blue and round, large, with circular pupils, _human_ eyes.

“It’s still me, Rumple,” she said softly, stroking his face to reassure him. “You just broke the curse I’ve lived with for so many centuries.”

“But I don’t understand,” he felt completely confused.

“When I was just a girl, playing at my father’s castle, an old woman came to it.” Belle sighed, remembering. “Her clothes were worn, and she said she was cold and hungry. The woman was looking for a shelter, but my father mocked her and drove her away. I laughed with my father and then she turned to me. Grabbing my wrist, she sliced my hand with a curvy blade and told me that I was now bound to it; that I would have an eternal life that could be ended by the dagger. That I’d be cursed by ugliness and only true love’s kiss could break it.”

“My looks did change and I spent all my time in the castle. My father was beside himself with grief and he abandoned all of his affairs, looking for the cure. He never found it,” Belle swallowed and when she went on, her voice was impassive. “I outlived them all. My father, the servants, everyone I knew. I dedicated my time to studying magic, to dark arts that would enable me to escape this misery. Eventually, the legends of the monster in the castle spread through the land.”

“Once, a man came to the castle. He spoke kindly to me and seemed to be understanding and compassionate, so I told him my story. When I mentioned the dagger, he asked if he could have a look at it. I didn’t think he would harm me, so I let him get a hold of it.”

“What the woman did not mention, that anyone who possessed the dagger and read the spell encrypted on the blade, could control me for I’d not be able to neglect direct orders. So the man used me and my powers to become the duke of that land, passing the secret of the dagger to his son, and his son – to his children.”

“Oh, Belle,” he pulled her closer to his chest, holding her fast. He couldn’t even imagine what years of solitude had been like for her; she watched everyone she knew die and had to serve the men who lusted to rule.

“But you saved me, Rumple,” her voice trembled but her eyes were dry when they met his. “And I love you too.” He sighed into her hair, his lips just a feather touch on her temple.

Her breathing was shallow as she dozed off, but Rumpelstiltskin was awake for a while, thinking, wondering about their future, hoping.

“I love you so much, Belle,” he whispered before he allowed himself to close his eyes and his mind to slip into a land of dreams.

***

Her eyes were still groggy from sleep as she reached up, locking their lips. Her kiss was slow and almost lazy, just a soft stroke of her tongue against his; a greeting into the new day that warmed him from inside. Instead of setting him on fire, it burned low and pleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It was nice – being able to enjoy the kiss, the warmth of her embrace, knowing that they’d have time for more if they wanted. Belle’s hand came up to draw circles on his chest, her nails grazing the skin gently. He sighed when she pulled back.

“Belle, I was thinking,” he started saying, feeling her moist lips move down his neck to press against his pulse point. She lingered there, lavishing the spot with her tongue, making the base of his spine tingle and the pleasure in his abdomen tighten.

“Yesterday, when we…” he gestured with his hand helplessly, unable to find the right words. “When your curse broke, it didn’t mean I left you defenceless? You know, robbed you of your magic?”

She looked up at him with a little frown, as if she hadn’t previously thought of it. She lifted her delicate hand to her eyes and then the small flames were dancing on her fingertips; they were pretty, bright yellow at their base turning into emerald green on top. They swirled and sent off little sparks, but there was no heat or not a puff of smoke. Belle shook them off, the flames disappearing with a subtle hiss and laced her fingers through his, smiling as he gave her hand a squeeze.

“No, I it doesn’t appear that you did,” she drawled, her voice neutral but Rumpelstiltskin could sense she was content; the magic had become an inseparable part of her.

“You don’t mind it, do you?” the concern crept into her voice now, as if she was afraid he’d be disappointed. It was silly, of course, why should he object? He had to get used to her new looks, sure, but he’d never imagined her being without her powers. He was no longer scared or intimidated by it, he trusted her to be wise with magic.

“Of course not,” he murmured and her body relaxed. “I was also thinking… Would you like to meet Baelfire? I could bring him here or we’d go for a walk or something?”

Belle didn’t reply, but kissed him instead. The kiss was more of an expression of gratitude for accepting her as a permanent part of his life, of trusting her to be around the other person he cherished. The tugs of desire turned urgent in his stomach as her teeth scraped against his bottom lip and her tongue darted out to lick the edge soothingly. Rumpelstiltskin groaned and shifted to loom over her, involuntarily bucking his hips forward, the need to feel her, to touch her so unbearably strong.

She moaned into his mouth as his hardness came in contact with her belly; her fingers were buried in his hair, pulling him even closer as her legs rose to cradle him between them. Belle sighed again as he arched his back, rubbing against her, his cock hot, hard and heavy against her. She met his humps, wriggling to line up with him better until he was grinding against her sex. She was already wet, and he found himself thrilled that she wanted him, craving his touch.

He rocked against her folds, the friction eased by her moisture. He wanted just to plunge himself in, feel her hot and tight around his girth, to take her, deep and fast until he was nothing more but a quivering, pulsing pleasure, undone by her silky tightness.

He didn’t give in though; he felt as though he’d been selfish for long enough, he wanted to please her first, again and again, he wanted to _learn_. He slipped his hand between their bodies, fingers sliding between the folds of her nether lips, and she felt as good on his hand as she did against his member. He stroked her for several moments, as she arched into the touch, desperate for more.

“Show me,” Rumpelstiltskin asked, shifting so that he could sit between her legs.

She looked at him and understood. There was no shame in her eyes, only pure want. Her fingers spread the pussy lips, exposing her sex. It was pink and engorged with arousal, tender compared to the short coarse hairs surrounding it. He could see the moisture glisten at her entrance; the juices transferred to her fingers as she circled the area, slowly. Her breathing became more rapid, her wet fingers moving higher, to the little bud where her folds met.

He watched, fascinated, as her fingers glided on the sides of her clitoris. It was a beautiful sight – her gentle fingers spreading the moisture around, touching, caressing, drawing moans from her lips. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t feel like he could remain a spectator any longer. He ducked lower, his lips pressing against the tender flesh of her thigh, so soft and silky, careful not to graze it with his stubble.

The smell of her sex was intoxicating, earthy, musky and thick it made his nostrils flare, something strong and primal stirring inside him. Upon a sudden whim, his lips covered her fingers, sucking her juices off them, licking her clitoris, tasting her, savouring her. He groaned as the taste of her tingled on his tongue. Belle whimpered and he hoped she wouldn’t push him away, he wanted more, he _needed_ more, he’d die if she didn’t let him.

He licked her franticly, his tongue lavishing every spot it could reach – her folds, the ring of tight muscles at her entrance and she throbbed under his strokes. He bathed her with his tongue, thoroughly and carefully, making sure no small piece of her escaped his attention. He concentrated between her pussy lips, cleaning her moisture, sucking her lips into his mouth to be rewarded with more of the delicious nectar oozing out of her. His own stiff cock was a distraction, pressed against his belly, smearing the precum on his skin and aching for release, but he dropped his hand to squeeze roughly at the base, ignoring it otherwise.

Belle’s fingers were entangled in his hair, pressing him closer, her hips jerking up against him. Her moans grew higher and louder when his licks became centred on her clitoris and he swirled his tongue around it eagerly. He wrapped his hands around her thighs, lifting her to his mouth and gods it still was not enough.

Her voice shot straight down to his loins, he could become undone just with those raw groans. Rumpelstiltskin shifted against the mattress, rubbing himself on the sheets to get rid of some of the tension. She cried and choked his name out, her voice husky and needy as his mouth closed around her pleasure point, applying a little suction with his tongue stroking the sides.

Her body tensed up as he licked harder, faster, building her up and her body shuddered when she came, the noises she made wild and non-human. Her fingers tugged on his hair painfully, but he didn’t stop until she was limp in his arms and pried him off her, too tender for further touching.

Her fingers guided him inside and she raised her hips to allow him to slide in. She was even hotter inside than he remembered, her body welcoming him, gripping him and nearly sucking his cock deeper. He raised one of her legs and hooked it over his arm, spreading her wider; he intended to move slowly at first, but he ached, he needed the release. He slammed his hips forward, fully sheathed in her, his body overpowering his mind. He snarled as she met his thrust eagerly, his body, slick with sweat, sliding against hers.

Rumpelstiltskin buried his face in the side of her neck; it was perfect, it was electrifying, every nerve ending in his body responding to her touch. He was so deep in her, filling her, stretching her, her body accepting him willingly. She was so alive and soft under his fingers, he could smell her, taste the salty ting of sweat as he licked her neck and it was too much, too overwhelming.

His thrusts made her whole body shake, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her heel pressed into his back and urged him on; she was panting as she raised her head to kiss him. Her tongue was moving feverishly against his, darting into his mouth with the rhythm of his erratic pounding and gods it sent him over the edge. He groaned as his cock pulsed inside her, coating her insides with his hot seed, and it lasted forever.

He flipped onto his side, not trusting his arms to support his weight and waited for his heart to slow down. He felt completely drained and powerless, he was sure he’d never be strong enough again to be able to climb off the bed. Not that he wanted to.

“Belle?” she hummed in reply and turned her face to him. She was lying on her stomach and he ran the tips of his fingers along her spine. “Why did you want me to make the dress for you when you could have simply magic it into existence?”

She didn’t answer, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

“You were lonely!” Rumpelstiltskin was startled by his own guess. “But… but why would you choose me? I tried to _stab_ you, after all.”

She wrinkled her nose, remembering that. “Call it a whim.”

He wasn’t satisfied by the answer and Belle sighed.

“Alright, if you need to know… You showed such selfless devotion and I was curious. I wanted to… study you closer.”

He wasn’t sure how her answer made him feel. On one hand, he was grateful for her honestly, on the other, Rumpelstiltskin hardly appreciated being treated like an object for experiments.

“Are the results of your _study_ to your liking?”

“Oh, most definitely,” she grinned at him.

“What did you need the dress for?” he didn’t want to sound overly nosy or accusing, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, that,” she chuckled a little. There was nothing funny in his words, but perhaps she felt the same way he did – happy, and could not hide her joy. “It’s for a spring ball. Dull event that could only be spiced up by the appearance of the terrifying Dark One. I like seeing their huge fearful eyes on me,” she confessed and he smiled, imagining how people would react to her presence. It was difficult to associate her with that word – _terrifying_ – as she was sprawled on the bed, naked, positively glowing with satisfaction.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I was thinking…”

“Yes, that’s always a bad sign, Rumple,” she teased.

“I was thinking,” he pressed, ignoring her remark, “that once I finish it, the dress might make a pretty wedding gown?” he raised his eyebrows expectantly, half-amazed at his own boldness. Everything was developing so fast, he wasn’t sure why he asked – Belle was content just having him near, but it wasn’t enough for him.

Rumpelstiltskin had to know that she truly wanted him, that it would last, that she belonged to him only. He wanted forever.

“Under one condition,” she said gravely and his heart dropped. She was going to refuse, all of it was a mistake and she’d send him home, broken and miserable.

Belle smiled mischievously and tapped him on the nose.

“You, my dear, will _not_ wear the matching colours.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Moment of shameless promotion. I'm now a co-admin of a Rumbelle group on [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/RumbelleFairytale?fref=nf)  
> How are we different from a gazillion of other groups? We have daily #NighTales - short stories with accompanying arts to spark your imagination before sleep ;)


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